The arena did not release them.

Instead, the silence that followed the giant's fall deepened—so deep it felt wrong, unnatural. The glow of the trial markings shifted from a steady pulse to a spiraling pattern, as though the walls themselves were thinking. Then the air thickened, not with dust or heat, but with weight. A pressure that pressed down on soul and bone alike.

Fenric's eyes sharpened. His silver flames flickered erratically, like they were being tugged by invisible strings. "No… this isn't just the arena. Something older is here."

Aria's green fire curled around her, protective, wary. "Older—and watching. The giant wasn't the judgment. It was the invitation."

Laxin barked a laugh, though there was no mirth in it. His chains slithered over his arms like restless serpents. "Good. Let whoever sits on that damned throne come down and see what we've made."

Before either could answer, the shadows of the collapsed giant didn't dissipate. They pooled instead, flowing across the ground until they formed a vast circle. From that circle rose a figure—not monstrous, not broken, but almost perfect.

An armored knight of impossible height, its body built from ash-gray bones and steel fragments fused together. Its helm bore no face, only a hollow slit that glowed faintly with an ancient fire. On its back was a weapon unlike any of theirs—a colossal spear made entirely of blackened light.

The trial symbols on the walls flared bright, then locked into stillness. This was no longer a test of survival. This was a duel.

Vex flared immediately, green flames rising into a storm. Fenric's creation spread its silence wider, locking the space into a suffocating calm. Laxin's undead braced, chains fusing into a spiked maul that dripped shadow.

The knight tilted its head, studying them with that hollow slit of light. Then, with deliberate precision, it drove its spear into the arena floor.

The entire ground convulsed. A wave of power erupted outward—not flame, not chains, not silence, but something deeper. The kind of pressure that demanded submission.

Fenric's undead staggered, its silence wavering. Laxin's brute roared, resisting with raw strength. Vex alone stood tall, its flames bending but not breaking, fire feeding on the very pressure that sought to smother it.

Aria's voice cut through the suffocating weight. "This… isn't just an opponent. This is the arena's champion. The one every creation before ours failed to surpass."

Fenric narrowed his gaze, his voice low but steady. "Then that's what we'll break."

Laxin grinned savagely, chains rattling as his undead surged forward. "Good. I was getting bored of practice fights."

The champion raised its spear. Its hollow slit burned brighter.

The trial had only just begun.

The knight moved.

Not fast, not clumsy—but with a grace that belonged to something timeless. Each step rang against the cracked arena floor like a hammer striking iron, the sound carrying weight that rippled through marrow and spirit alike. When it lifted its spear, the weapon didn't gleam—it devoured light, turning the air around it to shadowed glass.

Laxin's undead struck first, charging with the fury of chains turned to iron maul. It swung wide, the kind of strike that had shattered the giant's limbs moments ago. But the champion did not dodge.

The blackened spear met the maul with a single motion.

CRACK.

The sound reverberated through the arena, shaking dust loose from the rafters. Laxin's undead was hurled backward, chains snapping loose into sparks of shadow. The knight hadn't even shifted its stance.

Fenric's creation advanced next, silence rippling outward like a tide. The weight of the knight's presence dimmed for a heartbeat, as though the silence bit into it. The champion turned its helm, focusing that hollow slit of fire on Fenric's undead. The silence pressed harder—daring to erase it.

But the knight moved again, thrusting its spear.

The blow did not pierce flesh—it shattered stillness itself. The silence rippled and broke, as if the world had remembered how to scream. Fenric's creation staggered, but its eyes glowed brighter, silence re-knitting around its form.

Then Vex moved.

Its green fire erupted into a storm, spiraling upward and lashing outward like serpents. Unlike the others, it didn't try to overpower the knight—it tried to reach it. Emotions, raw and endless, surged into that hollow slit: sorrow, fury, despair, hope. The knight froze for the first time, its spear lowering fractionally, as if remembering something it had long buried.

Aria's breath caught. "It feels that…"

But the champion roared—a sound without voice, a resonance of ancient defiance. Black light blazed from its chest, scattering Vex's fire into wild flares. The knight's helm tilted, as though acknowledging the attempt.

Fenric's undead recovered, silence forming into a dome that enclosed the knight. Laxin's creation rejoined, chains reforming into jagged blades that lashed at the champion's legs. Vex's flames reignited, not to overwhelm, but to seed doubt into the knight's unwavering rhythm.

For a moment, the three undead moved as one—silence cutting its certainty, chains binding its steps, fire whispering cracks into its resolve.

The knight shifted again.

It spun its colossal spear in an arc too wide, too sharp for something its size. The dome of silence split. The chains shattered. The green fire burned, but faltered. All three undead were flung backward, crashing into the arena's walls hard enough to leave dents in stone.

Aria gasped, her flames leaping instinctively. "No—!"

But the three creations rose again. Battered, scorched, cracked—but standing.

The champion lowered its spear, the fire in its helm slit pulsing like a heartbeat. For the first time, it shifted its stance—not dismissive, not overwhelming.

Acknowledging.

Fenric's lips curved in the barest of smiles. "It recognizes them."

Laxin wiped blood from his lip where backlash had struck him, then grinned, wild and unbroken. "Ha! Then let's give it a fight worth remembering."

Vex's flames flared in answer, silent but fierce, as the three undead stepped forward once more.

The duel was no longer predator and prey.

It was challenger and challenged.

The arena seemed to lean closer, shadows stretching and twisting as if eager to witness the next exchange. The champion's spear swept in a blinding arc, black light tearing through the air. Laxin's undead spun under it, chains snapping and clanging, catching some of the force and redirecting it toward the arena floor. Cracks spread outward like spiderwebs, sparks flying where shadow met steel.

Fenric's creation moved with deliberate precision, each step a pulse of silence that dampened the chaos around the spear. It pressed forward, narrowing the space the knight could use, forcing the spear into a smaller, more predictable path. Every time the weapon swung, silence bit at its motion, slowing it, constraining it, until the champion's attacks became measured rather than overwhelming.

Vex circled above, green flames spiraling outward, seeping into the knight's mind. Whispers of doubt, flashes of old memories, and the sharp sting of regret flickered across the helm's hollow slit. For the first time, the champion hesitated—an opening that would have been impossible earlier.

Laxin's undead lunged again, this time striking with precision. Chains wrapped around the knight's spear mid-swing, forcing it downward as the black-gold links pulsed. Fenric's silence followed up immediately, pressing against the champion's core, muffling the force behind each step, each breath. The knight's movements slowed, muscles straining under invisible pressure, the spear no longer slicing with absolute certainty.

Vex's fire surged again, not to strike, but to twist, to push at the knight's perception. Its flames clawed at the edges of the champion's awareness, making each movement feel heavier, slower, more cumbersome.

Together, the three undead moved in unison. Silence held the space, chains bound and redirected force, and fire whispered doubt into every strike. The champion's balance wavered, its helm slit glowing with flickers of confusion for the first time in centuries.

Aria's voice cut through the tension, steady and proud. "They're not just surviving… they're controlling the fight."

Fenric's silver flames swirled in response, a quiet satisfaction in their controlled glow. Laxin's grin widened as he read the battlefield like an open scroll. Vex hovered above, flames steady, calculating, waiting.

The knight growled—low, bone-deep, and filled with centuries of unbroken discipline—but the three undead didn't hesitate. They pressed, each attack synchronized, each effect building on the last. The arena trembled under the force of their combined will, but it didn't break. The knight faltered again, then staggered, finally forced to step back.

For the first time, the champion's spear didn't strike. It paused, lowered slightly, as though considering whether these three—these creations of fire, silence, and chains—were worthy opponents.

Fenric's eyes met Laxin's and Aria's across the arena. No words were needed. The test had changed—they were no longer defending, no longer reacting. They were shaping the flow of battle.

And the champion had noticed.

The champion's pause stretched, the arena holding its breath. Every movement slowed as if time itself were weighing the moment. Then, without warning, it shifted—its colossal frame turning, the spear now held in a deliberate, steady grip rather than a flurry of strikes. The black light rippled along its weapon, but instead of charging, it measured, observed, and… waited.

Fenric's creation didn't move immediately. Silence radiated outward, a soft hum that reinforced the space around them. Laxin's undead flexed its chains, prepared but restrained. Vex's green flames danced, but with a subtle control, pressing on the champion's mind without overreaching.

The arena seemed to pulse in rhythm with that tension, as though the stones themselves recognized a shift. The champion's stance, once a relentless instrument of destruction, had softened. It was no longer purely an executioner—it was a judge, considering the trio before it.

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